


It's Just Us Now

by PeachyLana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cutting, Gen, Mentions Ramsey's torture, R plus L equals J, Scars, Self-Harm, but they just don't know it yet, hints of incest, jonsa, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyLana/pseuds/PeachyLana
Summary: Ramsey's presence still lingers, and Sansa needs Jon's help.





	

 

Jon raised a brow as Sansa slid a drink in front of him. “What’s this?"   

He knew her too well.  “You're _welcome._ " Her smug smile only caused Jon to chuckle.  

Her good mood always raised his spirits.  The new king narrowed his eyes.  "Don't you mean, 'You're welcome, _Your Grace_?'"  

Sansa sputtered with laughter, but quickly reclaimed her composure and took a seat beside him.  "Shut up and drink, _My King_."  Sansa added sarcastically, with a nudge to his arm.

Jon only needed to look at the thick consistency of the beverage to determine what it was.  “You're trying to poison me already?  Is this Tormund’s?”

“Sour goat milk,” she confirmed with a small nod, and grasped his hand to get his full attention.  His eyes moved to hers immediately with an audible intake of air.  Sansa wondered if she surprised him, or if he just found it awkward when she touched him?  “I have a favor to ask of you.  If you could come to to my chambers with me after you're finished here?”

The confusion on his far too pretty face only made her smile.  “What sort of favor?”  He rightfully looked to her with wary.

She never had a problem keeping his gaze until recently.  Sansa didn’t like it and fought the urge to lower her eyes.  “A big one.  And only one I can trust you with.”  

He looked down at his half cup of very potent Wildling drink.  “And getting me very drunk, very quickly is involved?  Should I be worried?”

“It might make it easier.”  Sansa realized her words weren’t making anything better and sighed.  "I just have to show you, and you would understand."  

Jon couldn't stand the sight of growing worry in his sister's eyes.  "Show me, then."  

Warmth spread over his cheeks as Jon followed Sansa to her room.  Maybe it was the alcohol.  As soon as the door shut, the small smile on her face was gone and replaced with the stone cold look she reserves for nearly everyone BUT him...unless, of course, she was angry with him.

“Sansa?”  Jon stepped closer, but Sansa quickly put her hand up, and he stopped mid-step.  

“As you can imagine….no,” she shook her head.  “You  _can’t_ imagine,” she sighed and unconsciously wrung her hands in nervousness.  “Ramsey did plenty of things to me.  There’s one that I need you to fix, only because I can’t do it myself.”  She turned her back to him and began to disrobe.

“Sansa,” he could only protest by saying her name.   _By the gods, what is happening?_  Jon’s jaw dropped.  He didn’t know whether to get out or try pull her clothes back onto her.  “What are you-”

“Hush, and just look.”  She let the dress fall to her hips and he tried not to be taken with her body.  The curves and beauty of her was the first thing he saw.  Then his eyes caught the scars of being whipped and bruising from being beat that littered her body, but her mid-back...the deliberate carving into her skin.  Fury clouded his vision and he only saw red.

“It’s his name, isn’t it?”  Sansa asked quietly.  “That would be SO fucking Ramsey.”  Her fingers reached behind her to feel the letters carved into her skin. “It was a letter a day.  You know, to really make it last for him."  It was so silent behind her that she looked over her shoulder to make sure Jon was still in the room. Did he stop breathing?  “Jon?”  Her lips parted at the murderous rage on his face. This was more than when he nearly beat Ramsey to death with his bare hands.  Oh, she would remember those glorious moments for a long time.  

Jon finally exhaled a deep, ragged breath.  “I want nothing more than to hunt down the woman in red,” his voice lowered to a new, dangerous octave.  “Dig up what's left of that bastard’s corpse and have her bring him back just so I can kill him over and over again.”  He walked up to her, not knowing what else to do with his hands clenched in fists.

“I appreciate the sentiment.”  Sansa softly smiled.  “But I only want his name struck through.”  Jon only stared at her blankly.  Did he not understand or was he shocked silent?  She turned to face him, and he blinked at the surprise of seeing his sister’s half-naked form, doing everything he could to not look at her.  “He started his last name below my chest.”  His eyes fell lower unable to not pause at her breasts, which she did somewhat try to cover in a futile attempt, and marked with what looked like bite marks.  The letter “B” was on her rib-cage with a freshly cut line across the older scar.  "If he was smart he would have started on my front.  I already took care of this one.”  Sansa said with some satisfaction.  It actually did her some good to finally tell someone.  Already her shoulders felt lighter.  "I know I'm asking a lot of you."

Jon needed a moment to process everything he saw and heard.  She dealt with that monster on a daily basis...for months.  And Jon knew there was much, much worse that Ramsey inflicted upon her, and gods, he felt sick just thinking about it.  “You know I can't do that."

“Why?”  Her anger at his refusal surprised him.  

Now it was his turn to raise his voice.  "I swore to protect you, not harm you!"

Sansa was having none of it.  “This is me ridding him for good.  It’s for _me_.  I already know no man would want a woman marked by the name of another, not even taking into account the other scars he left me.  Even being named a bride of his would make good men run in the opposite direction.  If good men even exist," she spat bitterly.  
"You are gorgeous, Sansa, and incredibly bright," the words came out without a moment's hesitation.  "Any man would be lucky to have you.”

She raised her chin.  “I’m done with being passed around and sold.  I don’t care if another man wants me.  I have you, don’t I?”

“Of course,” he scoffed outwardly, but his chest tightened at her words.   _And you're all I have, Sansa._

“Then that’s all that matters.”  Sansa's eyes never lost his gaze.  "I will not let that bastard's brand remain."  

Jon put a hand to his head; he felt ill.  “Do you even have a blade?”

She took a deep breath of relief and went to her table, “I had Brienne find me the sharpest she could find.  Oh, but the blood.  I need a wash basin.”

“Get someone to retrieve one and I’ll be back shortly,” Jon said quietly and already wracked with guilt.  He quickly left her chambers to go outside and desperately inhale the frigid air.  Maybe it would shock him back to his senses.

Meanwhile, Sansa began to mildly panic.   _You idiot._ This wasn't how she planned the conversation going in her head.  Did she scare him?  Was she crazy?  Would he tell Brienne and then they'd both lock her away for her own safety?  She changed out of her dress and rubbed her eyes hard with the palms of her hands.    

By the time Jon returned, Sansa sat hunched over in a night shift and her red hair twisted upon her head.  This time her eyes struggled to even look at him. “Sansa, if you changed your mind just say so.” 

She shook her head and willed herself to finally look at him again inwardly pleading.   _Please just don't look so sad.  It kills me._  “No.  I just hate myself for having to bring this to you.”

"You should lie down for this.”

“I would prefer to stand.”  

Jon withheld his sigh of irritation at her stubbornness.  Of _course she would._

"But-Are you sure?"  She asked.  "I can't have you resenting me.  I won't let that happen."

“If it will help you recover even the tiniest piece of what he took from you.”  Jon said quietly.  He had another cup of sour goat's milk in his hand.  “Drink this.  It will ease the pain somewhat.”

Sansa didn’t argue.  Not after him doing this for her.  She prepared her tongue for the disgusting concoction and was not disappointed.  She finished it in an impressive, long pull.  "Ugh," her lips puckered and she didn't realize how her nose crinkled and her hands flailed.  She heard Jon's soft laugh and saw him looking at her with adoration in his dark eyes.  Her eyes fell lower to his tunic and she cleared her throat to hide the trepidation in her voice.  “May I see?”  

It took Jon a moment to realize what she meant.  He almost bitterly laughed at how much they had in common now.  His hands went to the fastenings and pulled off the garments of his torso, letting them hit the floor unceremoniously.  Sansa’s wide eyes were just as horrified as his when he saw her.  “Gods, Jon.”  She reached out, but stopped herself, looking up at him for permission.  He gave her a silent nod and she bit her lip as she touched the wounds that killed him.  They hadn't begun to heal enough to convince her that his body still had the capacity to do such a thing.  At least his skin and taut muscle beneath seemed alive and tensed at her touch.  As grotesque as the wounds were, Sansa found him utterly gorgeous.  No woman would reject him for this.  But the betrayal; it made her heart ache.  “I am so, so sorry.”  

Jon clenched his jaw.  The sight of Sansa’s watering blue eyes was added torture to what he had to do.  “If you want to have this done, you must turn around before I change my mind.”

She went to the edge of the bed.  She braced herself and looked down at her night dress, its only purpose was to keep her from being completely naked.  “Cut it apart.  I don’t care.”  Sansa inhaled sharply when he immediately tore the fabric, but it wasn’t out of fear.  Why didn’t the same motions that Ramsey used evoke the same emotions?  

Jon looked over the name etched into her smooth, pale skin up close.  It was low enough on her back that her hair could not cover even when down, and the name spanned across nearly side to side.  He silently noted how skilled the Bolton bastard was with a blade, except for the letter "M".  The jagged letter looked out of place. She felt his fingers pause over the spot.  "That was Theon."

"What?"  He growled between grit teeth.  

Sansa closed her eyes.  "He didn't have a choice.  Ramsey made him do it for his amusement, of course.  Unfortunately, he didn't have a very steady hand.  Don't hate him for it.  He...suffered too."  

"That's not an excuse," he said darkly.  

"Jon, he threatened much worse on me if Theon did not comply.  I know how it sounds.  But you really have no idea what he was capable of."  She shook her head.  Jon looked her over with concern.  She discussed his torture so casually.  It began to worry him.  "Don't look at me like that.  I can see you in the mirror."

Jon glanced at the mirror beside the bed; Sansa's reflection and eyes glaring right back at him.  "Don't mistake my concern for pity, Sansa."  He placed his palm on her shoulder.  “I cannot begin to understand what you went through.  I can admit when I know nothing."

"You returned from the dead.  I hear stories from the wildlings of you that belong in songs.  I think you _might_ know something, Jon Snow."  She glanced at him over her shoulder.  "Shall we get this over with?"  

"Can you be quiet?”  Jon asked gently.  “I don’t want Brienne breaking down the door and having my head.  King or not, I don’t think she’ll approve.”

Nerves began to gather in her stomach.  “I will try, and I will gag myself if I need to.”

Jon knew his deep, uneven breathing did little to make her feel better, but he found calm resolve.  Confidence infused his voice. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

She nodded.  Sansa winced when the cold blade touched her skin.  Jon's warm breath against her shoulder began to affect her heart rate.  The welcome distraction only lasted until the knife cut into her flesh, and the familiar burn of all those torturous nights returned.  She hissed in pain and Sansa turned her head to the mirror, just so she could see Jon. Seeing _him_ was all she needed to calm herself.  "I'm f-fine, just ignore me."  She reassured with a gasp.  His dark eyes were focused on the task at hand, no worry or haunting guilt, but his fingers on her shoulder gripped her tighter with each tiny squeak she made.  His eyes flicked up to hers in the mirror as he drew the blade now midway across her back.  As soon as the knife ran across her spine, his hand moved from her shoulder to quickly cover her mouth as a cry escaped her lips.  “Shh.”  He hushed gently.  She whispered his name in her head over and over again, with her eyes focused on the reflection of his half-naked body.  The pain dulled, but she trembled. It had to be the chill of hot blood rushing from the fresh cut down her back, and the cold sweat that broke on her forehead.  It certainly wasn't his scent and body heat that enveloped her senses.  His moist palm finally left her lips.  

“Is it done?  Already?”  Her voice was thick with alcohol, confusion, and endorphins.  

“Yes.  Stay still,” Jon ordered.  A warm, wet cloth pressed against her back.  She arched and whined at the stinging pain.  “We need to bandage you, so you don’t stain your body and entire room with blood.”  Jon dropped the bloodied knife on the table. He sighed in relief and shame.  

But Sansa turned and grabbed his face in her shaky hands.  “Thank you,” her eyes were full of tears, but her smile was so beautiful words escaped him.  Gods, it was that sort of happiness that made him feel alive again.  Sansa, the sister that ignored him for all their younger years, and now her whisper sent chills up his spine.

She kissed him on the lips; soft and chaste.  Jon was taken by surprise, and maybe it was all in his head, but did she linger?   _Chaste!_ Jon desperately convinced himself. He closed his eyes tightly to regain his senses, but Sansa's hand reached around the back of his neck and, damn it, Jon knew she heard his shaky exhale of breath.

"Jon, tell me you don't hate me."  Sansa's fingers entwined in his dark curls at the base of his neck, beckoning him to close the gap.  

“I would never hate you.”  His hand gripped hers and gently removed it from his neck.  "Now turn around and let me dress your wounds before you bleed out.  Or have a good time explaining the stained floor to the servants."  Finally, Sansa seemed to regain some sense of the situation and let him wrap her waist in clean bandages while she fumbled for more drink.  She frowned, finding the cup empty.  "No more for you."  Jon pulled the cup from her hand.  “I'm going to stay with you tonight so we can stay here or you're coming with me to the Lord’s chambers.”

Sansa snickered with a drunken giddiness from the aftermath of what took place.  “I would never stain your sheets with my blood.  It's not like I'm your bride.”  

The joke was a surprise, but Jon could do one better.  "You made enough noise to make any passerby think that was the case anyway."  Her mouth gaped at him in mock horror, but then she laughed harder than he'd ever seen.  “To bed with you now.  That’s a command from your King.”

She winced lying onto her mattress.  “Try that again when we are in private and you’ll see what happens,” she threatened.  

Jon washed her blood from his hands, still unnerved by it, but at least Sansa was in good spirits.  "Is that so?  I'd love to see what you have to threaten me with."  He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots.  

“But Jon,” Sansa turned on her side and poked his back.

“Yes?”  He asked facing her.

“I would anything you ask of me anyway, but for doing this for me-.”

Jon slid beneath the thick blankets beside her.  “You owe me nothing.  You never will.”

Sansa had to close her eyes.  She couldn't look at him any longer.  He was so kind, strong, brave, and _good_.  She didn't deserve him.  Thank the gods he was alive and with her.  What would she do without him?  She nestled closer, and he outstretched his arm so she could slide against him.  Her hand pressed against his bare skin and ran next to the wounds on his chest.  The blessed relief his mere presence gave her was enough to keep going. She bit her lip and willed herself to sleep, but she knew her fears were coming true.        

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in this fandom. I wanted to just do some standard smut, but then this happened. I'm actually only a very casual viewer so I'm nervous about posting this. Since I'm so new, let me know if I'm doing the characters justice or not. This was intended as a oneshot, but I have more ideas if you're interested. I hope there weren't too many errors.
> 
> Title by Sleigh Bells


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